


soothe the beast

by ficfucker



Series: seduction through true crime - a dogtruth collection [8]
Category: Last Podcast on The Left
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Or at least it's implied, fluff adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 14:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20318332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: ben comforts marcus





	soothe the beast

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon who said: 
> 
> i just read all your lpotl fics on ao3 and if you’re still doing requests could u do something with marcus having like a really intense mental health episode (paranoia or hallucination or something) and ben helping him out? Love your work a lot!!!

It’s clear something is wrong when Ben doesn’t receive a text from Marcus the night before they’re supposed to record. 

Up until then, Ben has just assumed Marcus is busy as always, perching precariously between his facets of work before tittering off to another like an indecisive bird moving from wire to wire, but when 9:00 pm rolls around Tuesday and Ben hasn’t heard from Marcus, worry fills him.    
  
Marcus had cancelled on the live stream, too, sending a curt but seemingly genuine text to him and Henry saying he’d double booked himself, planned a Skype call with a true crime author and couldn’t cancel. Ben and Henry had been understanding, asked if they should just throw on a rerun. Marcus had assured them there wouldn’t be any hard feelings if they carried on without him; it was a Travis mandate, so he could just sit in next to Ben, but since then, Marcus has been dead silent on his end of the world, not even jumping in to comment on the stupid Dahmer valentines Henry had sent to the chat. 

Ben and Marcus haven’t been involved long, maybe 2 months by Ben’s guess, but the worry he feels, sitting alone in his apartment, halfway through a Bud and a frozen pizza, is typical of an overly concerned boyfriend and he can’t seem to quell it as he looks blankly down at his phone, eyebrows knit with anxiety. They’re not entangled in each other, Christ, they haven’t even said “I love you” yet. Regardless, Ben has Marcus on his mind.

“You’re not a mother hen to him,” Ben breathes. He opens his private texts with Marcus, which have been dry the last few days and his fingers hover over the glowing keyboard. 

“Good God, yes you are,” Ben decides out loud, and he starts typing. 

He worries about Marcus, almost always. He’s seen Marcus go through withdrawals, breakups, mental episodes, and despite his trust, his hope that Marcus is doing well and will continue to, the fear that something has gone wrong lingers in the back of Ben’s mind constantly. 

**Ben** :  _ Hey, Dogmeat, just checking to make sure we’re all still on for tomorrow’s episode. Didn’t double book your studio time, right? Don’t wanna disappoint all those listeners waiting to hear that voice of yours! _

He paper-airplanes the message into the white field of his phone, sees the little “delivered” pop up under it. 

Ben finishes off his Bud, nibbles on his pizza, which is soggy and floppy and the cheese is rubbery, but his mind stays on Marcus, checks his phone every few minutes to see if he’s gotten a reply. No new notifications. 

He tries Holden and Jackie, both of whom text back relatively quick to say when they last time they heard from him, both informing Ben it’s been several days since either of them have caught wind of Dogmeat, before Ben hits up Henry. 

**Ben** :  _ Hey. Do you know if Marcus is doing okay? Have you heard about recording tomorrow? _

**Henry** :  _ I thought things were quiet on the homefront! He ain’t texted me shit lately. Figured he’d get me tomorrow for when I’m supposed to Skype in. _

**Henry** :  _ He hasn’t sent you the usual “Ben Kissel don’t you forget we’re recording tomorrow, you fuckin’ beer ape?” text?? _

Genuine panic seizes Ben then and he wipes a hand over his mouth, pats the crumbs off his lap. 

**Ben** :  _ Not a word. I think it’s time I go check up on him.  _

**Henry** :  _ Keep our Dogmeat in check out there on the East Coast, Kissel! We can’t lose that big sexy brain of his or we’re fuckin’ toast.  _

Ben is wrestling into his jeans at the same time he’s pulling on his favorite denim jacket when Henry triple texts him, and he leans over the table to read the messages.

**Henry** :  _ For real though, hope he’s okay. Give me updates. _

**Henry** :  _ Also. Bring a lollipop or some shit. Soothe the beast with sweets.  _

Ben slides his phone into his pocket, makes sure he’s got his keys, and takes a mental note to stop by a CVS or Walgreens to get Marcus some candy and maybe new Juul pods. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Ben knocks and calls out, “Marcus? You home?” He’s got a white plastic bag in his left hand, full of gummy worms and chocolate, several juul pod packages in various, sickly sweet flavors, a Gatorade, other things of the like for his Marcus Parks Emergency Care Package. 

A minute goes by and Ben shifts his weight, knocks again, says, “Marcus? We’re gettin’ worried about ya, buddy.” 

There’s a shuffling from behind the door and then a deadbolt clacks over, the chain sliding through its slender, golden track, and the door inches open just enough for Marcus to stick his weasley face through. “Oh, hey there, Ben,” he greets, voice cheery. 

Ben blinks, looks him over. His hair is greasier than usual, lying in limp strands over his forehead, eyes ringed with dark purple, making it look like he’s sporting dual shiners, but Ben knows they’re from lack of sleep. “You gonna let me in there?” 

It seems to take a minute for Marcus to process this and he slowly nods, says, “Yeah, sure, come on in!,” and opens the door wide enough for Ben to enter, adding, “Sorry ‘bout all the mess. I didn’t know you’d be over and I’ve been caught up in research and ya know it is: things tend to get away from me at times.” 

The first thing Ben notices are the pickle jars: empty jars half filled with the translucent green brine, some with lids, some without, white seeds floating in them, stacked at random throughout the living room, a few in sight from the kitchen. And then he notices the papers, scattered on the floor like rose petals, highlighted in yellows and oranges, notes scribbled in the margins. 

“Marcus…,” Ben says softly, turning over to look at him. 

Marcus startles like a tweaker, shoulders going tight, and he whips his head over to look at Ben. “L-Listen, I  _ know _ it looks… bad right now, but after tomorrow I swear, I’m gonna come home and do a big haul of all this mess and-” 

Ben shakes his head, holds a finger out to Marcus. “Be honest,” he says. He puts a hand to Marcus’ shoulder and gives a comforting squeeze, leads them over to the couch to sit down because he knows this is going to be a bit. 

Marcus exhales. “Okay so - I - my prescription ran out and I kept putting it off, tellin’ myself ‘Aw, well, you can go a _few_ days without that until you get time to straighten it out’ but a few days turned into a week and I’ve-I’ve got so much _fuckin’_ _shit_ on my plate right now. I don’t have _time_ to visit a doctor just to get a refill on antidepressants I’ve been on for months but it’s - there’s formalities and they make you check in.” 

Ben nods, patient. “Mhm.” 

“So naturally comes the headaches and after that I-I-I… it sounds so  _ irrational _ to say it out loud,” Marcus breathes, shaking his head, laughing at himself dryly.

He’s being surprisingly vulnerable right now: they’ve joked about not letting Marcus around guns and the subway being able to read minds because of the metal they used to build the lines, but most of the time, Marucs retreats like a sick animal looking for a quiet place to die when he starts going downhill in regards to mental health. In the past, he’s snapped at Ben, told him to piss off and let him work his own things out, returning to Ben a few days later to apologize for being so touchy. Instead of that, though, he’s being open with Ben and Ben puts a hand on his knee. 

“Marcus, we talk about alien…  _ sex _ for a living! What shame is there about the  _ rational _ and  _ irrational _ at this point?” 

Marcus looks up, makes eye contact with Ben, and he quirks into a split second smile before continuing, “Okay, well… Men In Black make their return. Since we’re on Chappaquiddick. The Kennedys, man, I’m like, I can’t get the thought that the goddamn MIB are gonna snuff me for covering the Kennedys on the show. Keep… havin’ these nightmares I’m bein’ followed hauled off to government facilities by spooks and greys and my phone is tapped and my apartment is watched and-”

“Okay, okay, I see - I get the jist of it, I think.” Marcus’ voice is starting to get worked up, eyes wider and wider like Ben is going to, at any given moment, shed his skin and devour Marcus whole right there on the couch. Ben rubs up and down on his knee, from joint to midthigh. He holds up the CVS bag. “Henry and I got worried when you went turncoat on us, so I came with uh, supplies.” 

Marcus smiles, but all he can say is, “Oh,” as he takes the bag and paws through it. 

“Even got you those stupid pod things, thought you might need a little of anything if you haven’t been leaving the house-”

“Thank you, Ben.” 

“Oh…! You don’t have to thank me, Marcus, we were just concerned that you hadn’t been texting us back and Henry thought to-”

“No, I mean it… thank you, Ben. For being patient with me. And thoughtful.” 

Ben feels himself blush, face warming because this is incredibly intimate and the most heartful they’ve been in a while, no joshing or goofing, and he smiles like a dork, pats Marcus on the thigh. “Just trying to look out for our most important host,” he jokes and he leans in, throws an arm around Marcus to pull him to his chest, rub his back. 

Marcus melts into him, tension draining from his wiry body all taut with anxiety and paranoia, and he listens to Ben’s heart beat a moment before saying, voice hushed, “I probably smell like a mule.” 

“Ya do, but that’s okay. I knew what I signed up for.” Ben pulls Marcus into his lap completely, plastic bag crinkling in Marcus’ hands as he’s moved, and he cocoons himself around Dogmeat, chin resting on his head, Marcus origami folded into Ben. 

“We’re still on to record tomorrow, right?” Marcus asks softly. 

Ben chuckles, runs his hands up and down Marcus’ arms. “Mhm. Just gotta tell Henry you’re still kickin’.” 

They’re quiet a moment, hushed CCR playing from somewhere off, probably Marcus’ bedroom, and Marcus doesn’t squirm or shift one bit, not even when Ben kisses the nape of his neck, doesn’t twist away when Ben takes his hand and brings his knuckles up to his lips. It feels natural: not having a front to them, no need to be preformative or dismissive. 

“How ‘bout we toss you in the shower and I’ll help you clean up a bit around here?” Ben offers, giving Marcus a playful jostle. Marcus is in his favorite Ween shirt, the black one with the giant Boognish grimace over the front, and some stained grey joggers, both very obviously ripe with overwear. 

“Sounds good to me.” Marcus moves to get up but hesitates. “Would you uh… you wanna stay the night? I hate to sound like a fuckin’ third grader, but… The nightmares, man...” 

Ben smiles, gives him another kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll stay. Not like I had any big plans at my place.” 

Marcus stands, his face flushed, and he smiles down at Ben, says, “Thought maybe I’d be interruptin’ yer giant rager of a keg party.” He has the Gatorade out, twists the orange nipple cap, and takes a long swig before setting it down next to the bag on the couch. 

Ben stands and nudges him in the direction of the bathroom, saying, “I think a keg party by yourself is called alcoholism.” 

Marcus snickers and slinks into the bathroom, saying, “I’ll be out in a few… Chill wherever.” 

The casual security is nice: Marcus, even in the midst of extreme paranoia, feeling comfortable enough to tell Ben to just hang around, obviously soothed by the physical affection Ben has provided with him, and Ben smiles to himself, bathroom door now closed. 

He sits in an armchair, takes out his phone to text Henry. 

**Ben** :  _ Marcus is alive! He’s in the care of Uncle Kissel and I think he’ll make a full recovery. We’re on for tomorrow.  _

**Henry** :  _ Kickass! Knew ole Dogmeat would be fine, that fuckin’ hardy little ghoul.  _

Ben is grinning, can’t help himself, and faintly, from behind the curtain of noise the running water of the shower, he swears he hears Marcus say softly, with deep affection seeping into his voice, “I can’t believe I’m in love with that gentle giant…”

**Author's Note:**

> every day i fly closer to the sun that is fluff and soon i will burn up and post something that is genuinely soft 
> 
> kudos + comments are appreciated!
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


End file.
